


Let's Sway

by adorablecrab



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, alcohol mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-16 00:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13042296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adorablecrab/pseuds/adorablecrab
Summary: “Do you wanna go for a walk?”Grantaire is only vaguely aware that Enjolras has just spoken to him. He has been leaning heavily against Grantaire for a while now, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Grantaire barely dares to breathe...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle/gifts).



> The world is upside down and I decided to try and write something!  
> Sunfreckle was kind enough to cheer me on and beta read this. Thank you so so much!

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

Grantaire is only vaguely aware that Enjolras has just spoken to him. He has been leaning heavily against Grantaire for a while now, a thick blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Grantaire barely dares to breathe, afraid that any sudden movement is going to scare him away. The noise their friends make, spread all around and chatting happily, is strangely muffled by the nervous pressure in his ears. His face and neck feel hot despite the cold night air. 

This was a strange night, and of course it had all been Jehan’s idea; to borrow a van no one knows exactly from whom and drive up the small mountain on the outskirts of the city to watch the full moon. The moon was spectacular, to give them credit. And they weren’t the only ones to have that idea. There are many small groups of people scattered around.

He feels the weight lift from his shoulder and a second later Enjolras is looking at him, frowning slightly. Oh, right. Words.

“Mmm, sure!” He answers quickly, standing up. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Almost,” Enjolras smiles slightly, following him up. “Sorry I was lying on you. I was cold.”

Things had been, well, different between them for a while now. They didn’t argue as much anymore. Hadn’t had a fight in months. But for the past few weeks Enjolras had been so friendly and close and Grantaire was ready to rip his own skin off. 

Nevertheless he smirks. “Hey, anytime. I’ve been told I make an excellent pillow.”

Enjolras snorts and starts walking, bumping his shoulder lightly to get him to follow. As he is getting ready to do so Grantaire makes eye contact with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, who are tangled together leaning against a tree stump a short distance away. Ferre raises an eyebrow and Courf gives him the thumbs up, accompanied by a huge grin. Grantaire flips them both off and follows Enjolras away from the group.

They walk slowly, making their way through tents, small groups dancing and singing, even some small fires that aren’t exactly legal. They stop by a group of perhaps half a dozen people gathered around a guy playing the guitar. 

“He’s good,” Grantaire comments, burying his hands in his jacket pockets to try and control the temptation to reach out and put his arm around Enjolras’ waist. The man is playing something by Bob Dylan. He can’t tell exactly what, but it sounds nice. The wind is strong here though, and he feels Enjolras shudder beside him. “We should get going, you look like you’re freezing.” 

“No, I want to listen!” Enjolras replies, and Grantaire knows by his tone that there’s nothing he can do to convince him otherwise. He takes a deep breath.

Right beside them there’s one of the short tree stumps people use to sit on. Grantaire steps on it, bringing himself to be a little taller than Enjolras, who is watching him with a puzzled look on his face. He unzips his jacket.

“I’m not taking-”

“I’m not giving it to you” Grantaire cuts him off with a grin. “Come here.” He pulls Enjolras towards him by the blanket he’s still wearing, surprised that Enjolras follows without protesting, and turns him until he is leaning against his chest. His jacket is almost big enough to accommodate them both as he wraps his arms around Enjolras. 

Enjolras chuckles. “How are you so warm?” 

“Spite and caffeine.” This is a terrible, terrible idea. He can smell Enjolras’ hair - is that coconut? - and feel him trembling slightly against his chest. He is convinced Enjolras can feel the frantic beat of his heart. Probably the entire world can hear it too. “I’m sorry, is this okay?” He is already letting go, but Enjolras leans into him a little more.

“No, it’s fine!” he answers quickly. He releases one of the hands that has been keeping the blanket tight around him this whole time and places it over Grantaire’s arm by his elbow. Grantaire swallows hard, fighting to keep his breath steady.

Right at that moment he swears that the entire universe is plotting to give him a heart attack, because he immediately recognizes the first chords of the song the man with the guitar is starting to play. He lets out a breathy laugh and lets his head drop against Enjolras’ shoulder for a second. Of  _ all _ the songs he could have picked.

“What?” Enjolras asks. Grantaire can hear the smile in his voice. 

“Nothing. I like this song.” 

He starts gently swinging Enjolras to the rhythm, and Enjolras laughs, and maybe that laughter makes Grantaire feel a little drunk, a little bolder. He starts to sing along. 

_ “Let’s dance. Put on your red shoes and dance the blues _

_ Let's dance _

_ To the song they're playin' on the radio _

_ Let's sway _

_ While color lights up your face _

_ Let's sway _

_ Sway through the crowd to an empty space-” _

Grantaire has a decision to make. He could stop singing now and avoid making things awkward. Avoid dismantling the fragile friendship they have been building… But maybe Enjolras knows the lyrics too, because he grips Grantaire’s arms just a little harder. Grantaire’s head is spinning. There was never much of a choice, really. 

He stops moving and brings his mouth closer to Enjolras’ ear, holding him tighter. He can feel the stray curls tickle his face.

_ “If you say run _

_ I’ll run with you _

_ And if you say hide _

_ We’ll hide” _

He is absolutely certain Enjolras can feel how his whole body is vibrating, how shaky his voice is. He doesn’t stop.

_ “Because my love for you _

_ Would break my heart in two _

_ If you should fall into my arms _

_ And tremble like a flower-” _

Surely Enjolras is going to move now. Hastly untangle himself from Grantaire’s arms and walk back to the others and everything will be over.

He doesn’t move.

Grantaire sings the whole song and Enjolras doesn't move.

When it’s finally over, after a moment of quiet, he shifts and Grantaire quickly takes his arms away. But all Enjolras does is turn around to face him – having to look up a little to do so –  his eyes bright and very open, a hint of a smile on his lips. And at least a little of the terror he’s feeling must show on Grantaire’s face, because Enjolras squints at him.

“What?” 

“Oh, nothing,” he smirks, brushing a strand of golden hair from his eyes and bringing his other arm back around his shoulders. “I’m just not used to looking at you from up here. I must say it’s quite a view.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, as he always does whenever someone compliments his appearance. 

“You can roll your eyes as much as you like, it’s the truth!” 

He lays his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, hiding his face, but Grantaire can see the edge of his smile just in time. This is safe. Teasing is safe, he does that all the time. 

He runs his fingers through the soft curls, asking himself why he can’t stop testing his boundaries. If he stops right now, he might still save their friendship and not want to bury himself alive in shame tomorrow. Enjolras wraps his arms around his waist.  _ Shit _ .

“Is this what it feels like to be tall? I like it.”

Enjolras chuckles and Grantaire can feel the vibration in his whole body when he speaks. “Yes. Is it cold up there?”

“I have no complaints.”

Enjolras laughs and Grantaire is still running his finger through the soft, soft hair at the back of his neck, and because he’s an asshole he tugs at it just a little.  _ Why _ can’t he just stop? 

Enjolras breathes sharply.

“Sorry,” Grantaire whispers. 

Enjolras just gives the tiniest shake of his head and still doesn’t move. 

Grantaire let’s out a sigh. “What are we doing, Enj?” This is it. Now it’s all over. 

Enjolras lifts his head to look at him, moonlight catching in his eyes and Grantaire can’t breathe. Enjolras just keeps looking at him for a moment longer before going back to hiding his face against his shoulder. Grantaire can barely hear when he speaks.

“We need to talk.”

“Okay?” Grantaire manages, fighting to keep his voice steady.

“Not tonight,” Enjolras continues, a little louder now. “I’m too tired and it won’t be right.” He looks at Grantaire again, looking strangely helpless. “Alright?”

Grantaire can’t find anything to say. He leans in slightly, planting a quick kiss to one of Enjolras’ eyebrows, pulling him back into the hug because he can’t bare his eyes on him right now. It feels like he has been waiting forever.

“I’ll wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/).  
> Let me know what you think of my first ever fanfic!
> 
>  
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N4d7Wp9kKjA) is the song Grantaire is singing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire steps out of the bus and begins the short walk to the Musain, wondering why all of his friends seem to take pleasure in his suffering. He is tired. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Enjolras’ words the night before and had had almost no sleep. “We need to talk.”  
> What does that even mean?

**EagleOne** : You still coming? We are almost done here.

**EagleOne** : Fearless leader looks disgruntled. 

**GrandR** : On my way! Had to stay at the studio until later.

**GrandR** : Why is he disgruntled?

**EagleOne** : I’m not gonna spell that out for u xo

**GrandR** : ?????

Grantaire steps out of the bus and begins the short walk to the Musain, wondering why all of his friends seem to take pleasure in his suffering. He is tired. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Enjolras’ words the night before and had had almost no sleep. “We need to talk.” 

What does that even mean?

Last night had been weird, in an amazing yet nerve wrecking way. He smiles every time he thinks about it, right before the sinking feeling in his stomach and the certainty of impending doom catches up with him. His palms are sweaty despite the cold.

If this was anyone else, he would allow himself a little bit of hope now. But this is Enjolras and Grantaire can’t even begin to imagine a world where Enjolras would be interested in him like that. And yet he thinks about the sensation of Enjolras’ arms around his waist and soft blond hair tickling his face. And smiles.

_

Grantaire thinks back to this afternoon, when he and Jehan had lunch and their words managed to soothe his nerves at least a little.

“What does he want to talk about?” Jehan asks. The two of them were having lunch at the campus that afternoon. Grantaire can tell that they are making an effort to keep their face serious.

“I don’t know, Jehan. Would I have called an emergency meeting if I did?” He considers taking a bite out of his sandwich, then gives up. His stomach is threatening to come out of his mouth.

“We have lunch every Friday!” 

“Shut up and calm me down!”

They are both sitting cross-legged on a stone bench in front of the Library, facing each other. It’s cold, but there’s just too many people inside any of the buildings and for once Grantaire needs quiet, he needs to breath. He finally decides to abandon the sandwich he hasn’t managed to take more than a couple of bites of and drops his head on his hands. Jehan takes both of his wrists, delicate but determined, and lowers them, so that Grantaire would meet their eyes. They have their serious business face on, big brown eyes pinning him down.

“Now let’s look at this logically for a moment.” They say, slipping their hands into Grantaire’s. “What is the worst thing that can happen?”

“Enjolras saying that I’m disgusting and that he never wants to see me again. I am forcibly removed from the Revolution.”

“And considering the events of last night, and that you two have actually been getting along, do you believe that there’s  _ any _ possibility that this is what’s going to happen?”

Grantaire smiles involuntarily. Jehan smiles too. “Thought so.” They say, softly.

Grantaire groans. He has always believed that Jehan has some kind of magic power - they always know how to make him smile, no matter what. They are right, of course. The rational part of his brain knows it. His heartbeat and sweaty palms beg to disagree.

“Why can’t he just say what he wants then? This is torture!”

“Has it occurred to you,” Jehan begins, slowly, “that Enjolras might be just as nervous as you are?”

“Don’t do this, Jehan,” he says weakly, leaning forward to hide his face on their knee. They let go of one of his hands and brush their fingers through his hair. “I can’t afford to let my hopes up in this.”

Jehan sighs and just runs their fingers through his hair for a moment, and Grantaire knows that they are trying to find something to say that will make him feel better. He feels like a jerk for throwing all of this on them.

“Then maybe,” they say, “just try to enjoy what is happening now.” 

Grantaire breathes deeply a couple of times, then straightens up putting on his best solemn expression. “Will you be there to hold my hand when all my hopes and dreams are crushed into dust?” he asks.

Jehan huffs.~“I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so’ when it all goes well.”

Grantaire leans forward and squeezes both of their cheeks between his hands, making them laugh. “You save my life once again, Jehan Prouvaire”

_

Grantaire shakes off his thoughts, trying his best to take Jehan’s advice, and hurries to the Musain with a hesitant spring to his steps. 

_

Grantaire is late.

Grantaire is  _ late _ and Enjolras is upset and he  _ knows _ it’s just because Grantaire isn’t there. He is also worried, because what if Grantaire is avoiding him now? What if Combeferre and Courfeyrac were wrong and telling Grantaire they needed to talk was a huge mistake and now they can’t even be friends anymore because Enjolras ruined everything?

The meeting has just ended and they have all moved to the common area of the Musain, to order drinks and spend some more time together. Enjolras is sitting at a table, face resting on one hand and eyes burning holes on the front door.

He is startled by a hand on his shoulder and when he looks up Combeferre is looking at him, waiting. Did he just say something?

“Uh?”

Combeferre gives him a knowing smile. “I said I’m going to order some coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Oh. Yes please.”

Combeferre raises his eyebrows and turns around, walking towards the counter. “I’m getting you a hot chocolate, you are too tense for coffee and it’s getting late.” 

Enjolras groans and before he can get up to go after Combeferre, the hypocrite, Grantaire walks in. He brings with him a rush of cold air and startles a round of celebratory shouts from their friends, as if they hadn't seen him just last night. He goes around laughing, kissing cheeks. Enjolras doesn't know when he started smiling. Grantaire meets his eyes from across the room and stops for a moment, as if he had forgotten what he was doing, before waving at him. Enjolras’s feels his stomach drop. He waves back.

“Less sulky now, are we?” Courfeyrac is grinning at him from across the table, wiggling his eyebrows, sipping from a mug of hot chocolate.

Enjolras narrows his eyes at him, feeling himself blush. Courfeyrac’s grim grows even wider. Enjolras doesn’t notice when Grantaire approaches their table, planting a kiss to the top of Courfeyrac’s head and walking around to where Enjolras is sitting, frozen in place. He drops his backpack on an empty chair and kisses his head too, one hand lingering at the back of his neck for a moment. He greets everyone like this, whenever or wherever he arrives, though it had taken him some time to start doing it to Enjolras. Enjolras would never get used to it, it takes his breath away every time. 

“You look tired,” Enjolras says, watching as Grantaire takes off his scarf and jacket and drapes both over an empty chair - that same jacket he had been wearing last night, its warmth still lingering over Enjolras’ skin.

Grantaire just looks at him for a moment and there’s bags under his eyes. Then he shrugs. “Had an early class, didn’t get much sleep. Sorry I missed the meeting”

“Oh,” Enjolras manages. There’s a lump in his throat and he really wants Grantaire’s arms around him again. He had thought Grantaire not being around was bad, but this is much, much worse. “It’s fine. You didn’t miss much.”

“Well, it’s not like I ever contribute much anyway”, Grantaire says, as he hops onto the tabletop close to where Enjolras is sitting, properly, on a chair.

Enjolras frowns and is already opening his mouth to disagree with him, which could be the beginning of an argument, but Grantaire cuts him off, resting one hand on the top of Enjolras’ head for a moment, as if to brush the thought away. “I’m joking. I’m sorry.”

He has a tight smile on his face. Enjolras rolls his eyes, trying to keep his face serious, and Grantaire beams at him. He always smiles when Enjolras rolls his eyes and he realized a while ago that he had started doing it on purpose just to see that smile. 

“You two better move closer to the counter, they’ll be calling your names soon,” Combeferre says, sitting down on his chair next to Enjolras, holding a very large cup filled to the brim with steaming black coffee. “R, I saw you coming in and placed and order for you.”

“Ferre, you are an absolute angel. A saint. A god among-”

“Don’t get too excited, I ordered you tea”, Combeferre cut him off, giving him a smug look from behind his glasses. Grantaire makes an affronted, choking noise. “Jehan told me you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Enj, why is everybody so mean to me?” he asks with a dramatic sigh.

Enjolras smiles. “They care about you,” he gets up and starts moving towards the counter. “Come on. I got the no caffeine treatment too.”

Grantaire follows him to the counter, where a small crowd is gathered, waiting for their orders. It’s a Friday night, do none of these people have somewhere else to be? They lean side by side against the table containing milk and cream and disposable coffee lids and just stand in silence for a moment. A silence that isn't exactly uncomfortable, but is still making Enjolras agitated. Or it could just be that their shoulders are touching.

“Why did Ferre revoke your coffee privileges, then?” Grantaire asks, just as he is shoved to the side by a group trying to access the cream that he had been blocking. 

Without thinking, Enjolras puts one arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, pulling them both out of the way. Grantaire’s shoulders tense for a moment and seems to take a deep breath. Enjolras is about to take his arm away, thinking that the touch has made him uncomfortable, when he feels Grantaire’s arm circle his waist. His heart flutters and he turns his head to the side so Grantaire can’t see his smile.

“He decided I’m too tense and it’s too late,” Enjolras answers, trying to sound cranky. He starts playing with the chord that dangles from the hood of Grantaire’s sweater.

“I see he is in full mom mode tonight,” Grantaire says. 

Enjolras’ laughter is just a little higher than usual.

They fall into silence again, and Enjolras is painfully aware of Grantaire’s warmth and his hand on his waist, tugging at his sweater. Because he doesn’t know what else to do he brushes the tip of the chord he’s still playing with against Grantaire’s nose. He lets out an exaggerated snort, shaking his head, and digs his fingers on Enjolras’ side, right under his ribs. Enjolras lets out a loud yelp. Some people turn their heads to look for the source of the noise.

“Uh oh, are you  _ ticklish _ , Apollo?” Grantaire asks, his voice suddenly silky. He’s poking him softly now, eyes narrowing. 

“No I’m not!” He wiggles away from Grantaire’s grasp, laughing, while trying to pull the hood of Grantaire’s sweater over his eyes with the arm that’s still around his neck.

Grantaire manages to grab both of his wrists with ease, holding them around Enjolras’ back an pinning him against the table. Something about Grantaire being much stronger than him, the firm grasp on his wrists, is doing strange things to Enjolras’ insides. And Grantaire’s face is so close and he is smiling and just a little breathless…

“Hot chocolate for Enjolras and Camomile tea for Grantaire!” the barista calls from behind the counter. Grantaire lets go of him, seeming embarrassed for a moment, and hurries to grab both of their cups, signalling for Enjolras to follow him to the couches at one corner, where some of their friends are gathered. Enjolras follows mournfully, the warmth of Grantaire’s hands haunting his wrists.

Grantaire perches himself on the armrest of one couch, where Feuilly and Bahorel are sitting. Bahorel is gesticulating widely with one hand and holding Feuilly’s with the other, ranting about something to a distressed-looking Marius, who is sitting at an armchair next to them.

Enjolras sits next to Feuilly, and is greeted with a one-armed hug around his neck, before Feuilly returns  his attention to the one-sided argument happening on his other side. Grantaire hands Enjolras his hot chocolate and touches his own mug to it, briefly.

“To no caffeine.”

Enjolras sighs and sips on his drink. It's very good; thick and sweet and he knows that Combeferre must have asked for extra sugar. He lets himself sink into the soft cushions, happily, feeling the hot beverage warm him up from the inside. He feels Grantaire`s eyes on him, but he turns his head quickly when Enjolras looks up at him, and starts chatting with Joly and Bossuet, who came to join them on the next couch. 

They stay like this long after the drinks are finished and the cups placed safely on the coffee table. Enjolras is trying hard to listen to what Bahorel, Marius and Feuilly are discussing, but his attention keeps drifting back to Grantaire, who has one arm hooked over the back of the couch and never stops talking. He keeps his arms folded firmly against his chest, because his hands are itching to touch Grantaire, to attract his attention somehow. This is ridiculous, he thinks, frowning. I’m being ridiculous.

Then Courfeyrac appears out of nowhere and squeezes himself in the almost non-existent space between Enjolras and Feuilly, getting grunts of protest from all of them, while they shuffle to make space for him. Feuilly is now sitting pretty much on top of Bahorel, while Enjolras`s shoulder is pressed hard against Grantaire`s hips and waist.

“What is going on there?”, Grantaire asks, laughing. He shifts a little and now Enjolras` head is resting on the space between his arm and chest. Enjolras feels his face heat up and doesn't move.

“Monsieur de Courfeyrac has no understanding of the concept of personal space, that’s what’s happening!” Feuilly laughs, slapping Courfeyrac’s hands away from his collar. “And keep your frozen sausages away from me!”

“It seemed so warm here, I couldn`t resist!” Courfeyrac says, happily, but he raises his eyebrows smugly at Enjolras, who opens his mouth in silent incredulity.. 

Grantaire laughs, shaking Enjolras’ head, making him chuckle.

“Sorry, is this uncomfortable?” Grantaire asks, laughter still lingering in his voice.

Enjolras only manages to shake his head slightly. The conversation around them soon picks up where it lad left off, except Grantaire is oddly quiet now, and Enjolras wonders if he is the one making Grantaire uncomfortable. Maybe the question was more of a suggestion for him to move… 

But Grantaire is warm and Enjolras’ will to move and go sit somewhere else is quickly drained away when Grantaire starts playing with one strand of his hair which is escaping his ponytail, close to his neck, twirling it around his finger, and Enjolras feels shivers running through his whole body. Courfeyrac looks at him and then at Grantaire and smiles softly at himself. Enjolras is glad he doesn’t say anything.

“How was your hot chocolate?” Grantaire asks after a while, voice low. Enjolras feels the vibration through his body.

“Good.” Enjolras glances up, but Grantaire isn’t looking at him. “How was your tea?”

Grantaire smiles and meets his eyes. He seems shaky. “Oh, you know. Warm. Tasted like grass.”

Enjolras snorts. A huge yawn interrupts Grantaire’s simile. Enjolras can see that his eyes are a little red.

“You should get some sleep.”

“I should.” Grantaire stops playing with his hair to rub his eyes, then looks back at Enjolras with a half-smile. He looks adorable like this and Enjolras wants to hold him and get him to fall asleep against his chest. “I’ll get going, otherwise I’ll fall asleep right here.”

Enjolras lifts his head and shoulders to let him get up. Grantaire stays still for a moment then pushes himself out of the armrest, brushing Enjolras’ shoulders lightly with his hand. He starts saying his goodbyes, hugging the people closer to him and waving at the ones farther away. Jehan comes running to give him a hug. Enjolras stays put for an indecisive moment, then jumps up from his place on the couch.

“I’ll walk you outside” he says abruptly. Grantaire looks startled for a moment, then nods. Jehan winks at Enjolras.

Enjolras follows Grantaire outside, stepping into the cold night air. His ears seem to buzz a little after the cacophony inside. Grantaire is looking at him with something that could be expectation. Enjolras wraps his arms tightly around himself and breathes deeply.

“I didn’t forget,” he says, quickly, before his courage fades away. “We… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Grantaire has both of his hands buried in his pockets and isn’t quite meeting Enjolras’ eyes, but rather staring at some point by his elbow. 

“Okay” he says, barely more than a whisper. The exact same thing he’d said last night. “Tell me.”

Enjolras’ head is spinning, his heart hammering inside his chest. He can’t say it. This still doesn’t feel right.

Will it ever feel right?

“Are you coming tomorrow?” he asks. Courfeyrac had decided that there’s going to be a party at Enjolras and Combeferre’s apartment tomorrow night. He knows Grantaire is coming, but still feels the need to ask.

Grantaire smiles weakly at him, finally meeting his eyes. “Of course I am”.

“Tomorrow,” Enjolras says. “We’ll talk tomorrow”.

Grantaire extends one hand, palm facing up, and Enjolras takes it without thinking. Grantaire gives him a surprised look, as if he didn’t expect Enjolras to do it. He lifts Enjolras’ hand to his lips and plants a warm kiss to his knuckles. Enjolras feels like he could melt into a puddle right there on the stone sidewalk.

“I told you I’d wait,” he whispers against his skin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Enjolras nods, unable to speak. Yes. Tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did it!  
> This chapter was only possible thanks to [Sunfreckle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfreckle%0A/) holding my hand and being amazing and lovely in general.
> 
>  
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/).  
> Comments mean everything to me! Let me know what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not going.” Grantaire says, voice muffled by the pillow on his face. This is a lie, of course. He couldn’t stay away if he tried. But as long as his nerves are driving him crazy he is going to be dramatic about it.

“I’m not going.” Grantaire says, voice muffled by the pillow on his face. This is a lie, of course. He couldn’t stay away if he tried. But as long as his nerves are driving him crazy he is going to be dramatic about it.         

“Hmm?” Jehan is sitting next to where he is laying on his back in the unmade bed, flipping slowly through his sketchbook as they do every time they can get their hands on it.

Earlier that day they had announced that they would meet Grantaire in his apartment and the two of them would go together to Combeferre and Enjolras’ apartment. Of course they were predicting Grantaire would have a crisis at some point during the day.

He had been blissfully buried in work all afternoon, and as long as his hands are busy and music is blasting through his headphones he doesn’t have to think of Enjolras. Now he has nothing to do except wait and apparently the agitation he had managed to avoid so far is catching up with him.

“You heard me!” he pouts, shoving Jehan’s arm with his foot. He hears Jehan sigh and feels them pulling the pillow that had been obscuring his face towards his chest. They place his sketchbook carefully on the floor - as if it weren’t all thorn and battered already - and throws themself on top of him, knocking the air out of his lungs. He grunts, but laughs.

“And why is that?” they ask, folding their arms over the pillow and resting their chin on one hand, with eyes that seem to look straight into Grantaire’s soul.

He throws one arm over his eyes and doesn’t answer.

“Do you want some camomile tea?” they tease and Grantaire smiles. 

“Parnasse is on his way,” they say after a moment. Grantaire lifts his arm to see that they are staring at their phone, typing. “He says he’s not going to let you dress like a hobo tonight.”

Grantaire huffs. “Tell him he can go fuck himself.” He moves his legs in an attempt to dislodge Jehan from on top of him. “Move, I have to go take a shower. I smell of turpentine.”

“You smell of artist!” Jehan says, rolling to the side. “It’s sexy!” 

Grantaire gets to his feet and throws the pillow at Jehan. It lands on their face and they just lay there, giggling. He makes his way towards the bathroom through the assortment of art supplies, books and clothes littering the floor of the small apartment. More like a glorified closet, really, and the heat doesn’t always work, but he is glad to have a space all to himself.

He takes a quick, very hot shower. Joly would complain that it’s bad for his skin, but he doesn’t care. The steaming water relieves some of the tension in his muscles and he sings on the top of his lungs, purposefully out of tune. He can hear Jehan’s laughter from outside. Grantaire is surprised to realize that he’s in a surprisingly good mood.

When he comes out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and wet hair dripping all over the wooden floor, Montparnasse is already there, furiously going through the chest of drawers where Grantaire keeps his clothes. He looks at Grantaire when he walks in, raising one perfect eyebrow, seemingly unimpressed.

“Is this how you walk into a room my partner is in?” he asks, before going back to the task of - apparently - emptying all of Grantaire’s drawers. Jehan giggles from the bed, where they are laying with their head dangling upside-down from the edge.

“Is this jealousy I hear?” Grantaire replies, picking up some underwear from the pile of clean laundry. He feels slightly self-conscious, but would never, in a million years, let Montparnasse notice. “And what on earth are you looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t have paint stains on it.”

“Jehan thinks they are sexy.” Grantaire points out.

“Yes I do.”

“Jehan, love of my life, we both know you don’t get a say when it comes to fashion choices.” 

Jehan makes a face at him, then laughs. “I think you are sexy too, love,” they wink at him.

Montparnasse doesn’t try to hide the fond smile that appears on his lips. Suddenly he makes a triumphant sound, pulling something dark grey from the bottom of a drawer. He throws it at Grantaire.

“There’s a reason this shirt doesn’t have paint stains!” he protests. “I don’t like it, so I never wear it!”

“Just try it!” Jehan coaches, sitting upright expectantly.

Grantaire rolls his eyes. It’s impossible to say no to Jehan. He pulls the shirt over his head. It’s too tight, it seems to cling to his upper arms and chest, and the v-neck is too low. It makes him feel naked. Neither Jehan nor Montparnasse say anything for a couple of moments, they just stare. Grantaire starts pulling the shirt off.

“No!” and “Don’t you dare!” they exclaim at the same time. 

Grantaire stops mid-action and gives them an incredulous look. “Oh, come on!” he complains. “It’s uncomfortable!” 

Montparnasse throws a pair of jeans at him. His favorites. 

“I’ll let you keep your scruffy pants,” he says with a smirk. “But the shirt stays.”

“Why are we doing this, again?” Grantaire mumbles, pulling up the zipper of his pants.

“As I understood the situation, the love of your life is about to either profess his undying love for you -  _ finally _ \- or push you away forever.” Montparnasse says, matter-of-factly, stepping into Grantaire’s space and running his fingers through his still damp hair, in an attempt to tame the wild curls. He grins. “I’m just making sure you look good either way.”

Grantaire tries to ignore the lump in his throat as he swats Montparnasse’s hands away from his hair.

This is as ready as he is going to get.

\---

Enjolras is pacing anxiously back and forth in the small living room, his brow furrowed. Combeferre is on the couch with a book and Courfeyrac is leaning against him, typing on his phone. Enjolras keeps biting and picking at the skin around his nails and running his fingers through his hair. “You look like an angry dandelion,” Courfeyrac had proclaimed a few minutes back. His hands feel big and clumsy and he doesn’t know that to do with them.

“Jehan is on their way.” Courfeyrac informs them happily. “With R and Parnasse.” His fingers bounce over the screen again, excitedly. “So are Joly and co. They are bringing cheesecake!”

Enjolras’ head darts in their direction at the mention of Grantaire, without really having listened to much else. Courfeyrac gives him a knowing look and  stands up just enough to pull Enjolras by the arm and drag him to the couch. Enjolras lets himself drop between Courfeyrac and Combeferre, getting a tight hug from Courfeyrac. Combeferre places one hand on his hair, petting lightly, without taking his eyes from the book.

“This is a terrible idea.” Enjolras mumbles, sinking into his friends’ warmth for comfort.

“No it isn’t,” Courfeyrac says gently. “What could go wrong?”

“Oh, do you want a list? Because I have a list,” Enjolras answers bitterly. He leans back into the cushions and into Courfeyrac’s arms, seeking more warmth. He suddenly feels very cold.

Combeferre sighs, closing his book. “Listen, I know you have a speech prepared.” Enjolras opens his mouth but Combeferre cuts him off. “Yes you do, I’ve known you for 20 years.” He pauses for a moment and pushes his glasses up on his nose, as he often does when he’s thinking. “I had one too, and it didn’t work. I ended up not using it at all.” At that, Courfeyrac makes a soft strangled noise at his other side, but Combeferre just smiles and continues: “I would advise you to just be yourself. Be sincere.”

Courfeyrac leans over Enjolras to kiss Combeferre. “You had a speech?” he asks, and Enjolras can hear the grin in his voice. He makes an exasperated noise at being crushed between the two love birds, but smiles fondly.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, untangling himself from between his friends to let Courfeyrac take his place and goes sit on this other side, still leaning against him. Just about a month ago his two best friends had been in much the same state he is at now, paralyzed in fear of being rejected by the other. Enjolras doesn’t know the specifics, what exactly made them finally take the leap, but somehow it had something to do with him realizing his feelings for Grantaire.

_ Grantaire _ .

He knows that Grantaire is attracted to him, he isn’t that blind. But he is afraid it might be just that. Then he thinks about Grantaire’s expression when he told him that they needed to talk - he had seemed startled at first, but then maybe hopeful? He is being so patient and it just isn’t fair to keep him waiting. Enjolras smiles and touches his hand where Grantaire had kissed him the night before, he can almost still feel his lips and the warmth of his breath. 

Slowly, he begins to feel that fire that drives him towards the things he believes in and loves warm him up from inside. He will never know if he doesn’t ask. 

He is ready.

\---

Enjolras is the first thing Grantaire sees when Courfeyrac opens the door to the apartment. He is arranging bowls of snacks over the table by the window, with the same fierce concentration he does everything else. Every task is a battle to be won.

He knows he probably idealizes Enjolras when he’s not right in front of him. The blue of his eyes, that single strand of hair that always escapes his bun or ponytail and curls behind his ear, the graceful curve of his neck. Yet somehow he is always amazed when he sees him, it doesn’t matter if it’s been a month or a couple of hours. That first look always hits him like a truck.

Except the impact never used to be accompanied by Enjolras looking up and smiling brightly at him, like he is doing now. Grantaire freezes and knows he must have the stupidest grin in his face. He might have just stood there forever if Courfeyrac hadn’t thrown his arms around his neck, urging them all to take off their jackets and come inside.

“Holy shit, R, I didn’t know you had a body under all those baggy sweaters!” Bossuet exclaims, way louder than was strictly necessary, stepping out of the kitchen with Joly on his heels at the exact moment Grantaire is throwing his jacket over the chair by the door.

There is a sudden pause in Courfeyrac’s struggle to try and give Montparnasse a hug. He whistles and Grantaire feels his face and neck grow warm.

“Asshole, you’ve seen me shirtless like a million times!” he laughs, being crushed between Bossuet and Joly. 

“Babe, don’t spill our secrets like that.” Joly says with feigned indignation.

“Look at your wearing a shirt that is your actual size, I’m so proud!” Musichetta exclaims, summoned by the noise of their arrival and pulling him into a hug of her own. 

“Oh shush.” He leans into her, closing his eyes for a moment and feeling the tension in his shoulders subside slightly. Musichetta gives the best hugs. 

“Are you okay, love?” she asks softly, brushing his hair with her fingers. 

“I’m good,” he whispers, letting go and looking up at her with a lopsided smile.

She hums suspiciously and looks like she is about to say something else when the door bursts opens. Bahorel, Feuilly, Éponine, Cosette and Marius push their way in, while Grantaire is forced further into the living room with the others and ends up standing right next to Enjolras. His stomach drops.

“Hi,” he says awkwardly, glancing up and noticing Enjolras’ face is slightly redder than usual. He shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Hi,” Enjolras answers, smiling and fiddling with his hands. 

Bracing himself, Grantaire takes a step further into Enjolras’ space, almost standing on his tiptoes to kiss him quickly on the cheek. He feels his face grow hot. It doesn’t matter for how long he has been doing that, he blushes every single time.

Was that a catch of breath he heard from Enjolras? 

The air between them feels heavy. He feels Enjolras’ eyes on his collarbones and suddenly feels very exposed. He resists the urge to tug at his shirt.

“I have to... help Ferre.” Enjolras says, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen where Bahorel is trying to store too many beer bottles in the too small fridge.

“Yeah,” Grantaire breathes out, relieved and disappointed in equal measures.

Enjolras takes a couple of steps, then glances back. “You look nice, by the way,” he says with a dazzling smile before turning and quickly making his way to the kitchen.

_ Shit _ .

\---

_ ‘Shit _ ,’ Enjolras thinks, cursing at himself for running away. He breathes and tries to busy himself, helping Combeferre and Bahorel organize the fridge to fit everybody’s drinks and food. It’s fine, he tells himself. There will be other chances. He has the whole night.

Combeferre and Enjolras share the biggest apartment out of all of their friends, but the living room is still too small to accommodate all of them comfortably. So as usual, they soon enough end up scattered in smaller groups. Some at the kitchen, some at the living room, some in the bedrooms. There is a constant motion of people moving from one room to the next. 

Enjolras watches Grantaire intently all night, and catches Grantaire watching him quite often. They both smile at those times, and Enjolras feels like a blushing, smiling mess. At some point everyone figures out Montparnasse was responsible for picking out the shirt Grantaire is wearing and applaud him loudly. Grantaire only responds by rolling his eyes, though his neck and cheeks are visibly red. Montparnasse raises his wine glass nonchalantly, accepting the compliment. Enjolras doesn’t know if he wants to thank Montparnasse or kick him. He finds himself unable to take his eyes off of Grantaire’s collarbones and throat. He is pleased to notice that Grantaire doesn’t accept any alcohol offered to him all night, and does the same.

He loses sight of Grantaire eventually, distracted by a story Feuilly is telling. He draws himself up from his place on the carpet where he had been leaning against Cosette’s legs and goes to look for him, heart pounding in his chest.

He isn’t at the kitchen and the rest of the apartment seems empty, but the lights are on in Combeferre’s room. He approaches the door and there is Grantaire, by himself, intently examining the bookshelf, fingers brushing the books’ spines. 

“Jesus!” Grantaire jumps, startled by his sudden appearance. “Shit, you are silent!”

Enjolras smiles. “Our friends are loud. Sorry, I didn’t think there was anyone in here. I wanted to turn off the lights.”

Grantaire breathes deeply. “Well, since you are here,” he says, recovered and gesturing at the shelves, frowning. “Combeferre told me he has an English translation of a Manuel Bandeira book, but I can’t find it.”

Oh. Combeferre is  _ sneaky _ . He knows nobody is capable of finding any book in his room. He arranges his shelves - as well as the piles of books scattered all over - following a system known only by him. He would have come and fetched the book for Grantaire himself. 

… unless he expected Enjolras to follow Grantaire here.

“What?” Grantaire asks, a smiling tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Enjolras’ head is spinning. There’s no turning back now.  He can’t help but smile at the inquisitive look Grantaire is giving him.

“I think,” Enjolras starts, and his voice is shaking. “This is part of an elaborate plan to get us alone.”

“Oh,” is all Grantaire says, frowning a little as realization downs on him, glancing at the shelves again. “ _ Ferre _ !” he gasps. Then he quickly looks at Enjolras, his eyes wide. “Look, you don’t… have to say anything if you don’t want to! I-” He motions towards the door, but Enjolras interrupts him.

“Can we talk? Please?”

Grantaire stays still for a moment and when he takes a couple of steps towards him, Enjolras thinks he is going for the door. But he stops right in front of him, looking up at his face.

It would be so easy to kiss him now, to bury his hands in Grantaire’s hair, and he doesn’t think Grantaire would oppose. But no. He has to do this right. His heart is pounding in his ears and doesn't know how he is managing to keep himself upright. He is startled by Grantaire’s touch in one of his hands.

“Please, Enj, you are freaking me out,” Grantaire whispers, so low that Enjolras can barely hear. He is looking down at their hands. 

Enjolras breathes out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding, tangling their fingers together. 

“I’m in love with you.” For a moment his thinks he hasn’t spoken out loud, or had done it so low Grantaire didn’t hear him. He certainly didn’t feel the words pass his lips. His entire body has gone numb. The only thing he can feel is Grantaire’s hand in his.

Grantaire breathes in sharply, his grip tight on Enjolras’ hand.

“R-”

“I love you,” Grantaire blurts out, his eyes wide, almost pleading. “Fuck, I have been in love with you I don’t even know for how long. I-” He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing hard. His free hand tugs at the hem of Enjolras’ shirt, as if to steady himself. “You’re not joking are you?” He lets out a breathy, desperate laugh. “That would be super low.”

Enjolras shakes his head, one small part of him trying to be offended, but he is smiling too much. He can barely speak. “Do you really think I would be joking about this?”

Grantaire stops for a moment, and there’s a smile spreading slowly across his face. “No.” He says carefully. “But it’s still more believable than-”

“ _ Grantaire _ .” Enjolras cuts him off, slowly placing one hand on the edge of his jaw, so Grantaire has time to pull away if he wants to. He leans forward, resting his forehead against Grantaire’s. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, little more than a whisper.

Grantaire doesn’t answer, but raises his head so his lips brush Enjolras’ and Enjolras can feel his breath against his mouth. When Grantaire speaks, his voice is trembling.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, then moves back slightly so he is looking at Enjolras again. He looks sad. “I’m a mess, I don’t wanna hurt you.”

No, no, no, this is all wrong. It seemed to be going so well but right now it’s all wrong. Enjolras knows he can fix this, he has too. He only needs to find the right words.

“I don’t think you’ll hurt me,” he says as gentle as he can, fighting against the urge to shake Grantaire to make him see that they can make it work. He caresses his cheekbone lightly with his thumb. “I’m tough.” Grantaire lets out a tiny laugh through his nose, tilting his head to kiss the edge of Enjolras’ palm. He is smiling again. Good. “Will you give me a chance?”

Grantaire’s smile would have been all the answer Enjolras needed, but he still whispers a “yes” against his palm.

“Will you kiss me properly now?”  Enjolras beams.

Can you even kiss when you are smiling this much?

Grantaire grabs Enjolras’s face with both hands and kisses him. Enjolras lets out a long, unsteady breath and smiles against Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire smiles too and starts planting small kisses all over Enjolras’ face before returning to his mouth. Enjolras hums and wraps his arms around Grantaire’s neck, while Grantaire encircles his waist with one arm, pulling him close. His other hand is sliding through Enjolras’ hair, freeing it from the elastic band that had been keeping it in a bun. His hair is going to be a mess and he couldn’t care less because Grantaire is  _ kissing _ him. He starts laughing as Grantaire pushes him against Combeferre’s bookshelf, slow but firmly, and he is laughing too, kissing all over Enjolras’ jaw and neck. Enjolras’ hands find their to Grantaire’s hair and they never want to leave.

“Shit, sorry!” 

A voice by the door makes them jump, and they part just in time to see Feuilly’s guilty expression as he quickly closes the door. 

“Oh no, we were discovered,” Grantaire whispers against Enjolras’ neck. 

Enjolras had completely forgotten there were other people in the apartment. They were completely alone in the universe until just now. He can hear questioning voices from the living room and Feuilly’s answer: “Nothing! Definitely nobody in there!” He can tell that Feuilly is smiling. 

“Can we keep kissing until they come and break down the door?” Enjolras asks, looking at him as best as he can without having to step back, even for a second.

Grantaire smiles and pulls him in for another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is done!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and let me know what you think!  
> Find me on [tumblr](http://deboracabral.tumblr.com/).  
> And as always, many thanks to Sunfreckle for holding my hand through this <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Let's Sway by adorablecrab](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708734) by [TheLordOfLaMancha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLordOfLaMancha/pseuds/TheLordOfLaMancha)




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